Is it visible? Do I shine from the inside and out? Are my bubbles bubbling over? Will people notice then?That I have a spark in my body telling me to love. Or that life is too interesting for missing out on feelings. Excessive endorphines pouring out of my body. They are far too many.Crying my eyes out, because life is. what life is. A comedy. Ha-ha-ha.

God's watching me, shining through thick black clouds,With sun, warmth and a Kierkegaard. Turning the wind and singing in the saltwater country. It is all my plan now. The godly plan. Mr. Spinoza are you inlove already?I am, in everything I know. Everything that reflects my mirror. Where did I read that? Would it matter?

Opportunities, life choices. I would say that I am a Kierkegaard.I'll take out christendom of my spirituality. Am I you and you me? Am I caused or am I causing? Is it myself I am staring at over dinner and candles? Retorical questions just means that I know nothing.Read my lips, my love. But you already know, without a word. Do I too?

Reading. His tender words. And we're all holding our oxygen strictly to ourselves. Australian literature, Australian nature, Australian soul. Breath out my lovelies. Breath.

Isabella Johansson

Moved out of the IKEA-country again and am living at my English inferno. Don't read about my adventures and my everyday life here, because I write them in my notebooks nowadays - shout me a message if you want to see them. Love and smiles.